


The Running Man

by skyemaxwell



Category: Running Man RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Gen, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3313148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyemaxwell/pseuds/skyemaxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after a disastrous failed mission, an elite team of agents are called back together to finish off what they started: to hunt down the Running Man. A Running Man AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are. This just won't seem to leave me alone, so I'm writing it. I'm not expecting much reception and this is mostly for self-satisfaction, but comments are always appreciated. For those unfamiliar with the cast of Running Man, this can be read as a separate story altogether, because I've changed their names. To those who are familiar, I hope it's obvious who's who, and if you're still confused, you can always double check with me. 
> 
> Cheers!

**_September, 2014_ **

 

“I’ve seriously had it with this.”

The tall, black-clad man sank into the comfort of the van, ripping off his mask as the door slammed shut behind him.

“What? Mission Accomplished, that’s what matters.”

“I nearly lost a hand!” The man scowled, throwing the mask at the guy sitting in front. “You were supposed to cover me!”

“Well, excuse me for not being able to hide your tall tree of a figure from the security cameras, _Agent Graff_.” The guy snorted, clacking away at his laptop. “Anyway, you were supposed to go through the chutes, like I told you to.”

“ _No one goes through the chutes_!” The said agent hissed. “Normal people don’t even fit into chutes! Why can’t your brain comprehend this fact? What kind of action movies have you been watching?”

The door of the van slammed open.

“I could hear your dulcet tones all the way from the roof.” The new-comer snarled, biceps contracting threateningly. “Kindly shut up.”

“Cook!”

“Alright, guys.” The man in front snapped his computer shut. “We’re almost through here. Just need to pick up the goods.”

“Where’s Agent U?” The muscled hit-man climbed into the van, settling in front of the fuming Graff.

“He’s got the Target. He’ll rendezvous with us five miles from here.”

“How the heck did he get five miles?”

“He stole a car.”

“ _That little show-off_.”

The bespectacled man in the driver’s seat turned to grin at them. “He can’t resist a little dramatic flair, our Agent U. Buckle up.”

“Dear god, this is the part where I throw up.” Graff muttered, grabbing at his seat belt.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Cook clicked the safety on his gun. “Get us out of here, Double-H.”

“Right-o.”

And with a squeal of tires, the black Van turned around a corner and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

 

He stood quietly by the window, leaning casually against the wooden sills as he waited for the tell-tale sound of a man’s throat being sliced open. There was a slight wind blowing, disturbing the curtains around him. He kept his eyes on the discarded leather jumpsuit resting on the pristine carpet of the hotel room, no doubt more expensive than anything he’d ever owned.

 _Ah, finally_.

He raised his eyes expectantly to the archway of the connecting room, listening for footsteps, and yet totally unsurprised at the apparition of a woman. _The_ woman.

She was naked, except for the gleam of a sharp blade in her hand and a stain of red on her cheek. She wandered lazily into the room, pausing to pick up her discarded jumpsuit.

“Did you wait long?” She asked lightly, slipping into her suit.

“Just arrived.” He replied, keeping his eyes on her.

“I see.” She sighed, flipping her dark hair over one shoulder. “Any complications?”

“I wouldn’t be here if there were.”

“Good.” She glanced down bemusedly. “My knife is dirty.”

“I’ll clean it up.”

“Thank you.” She slipped past him, hoisting one booted feet up the window. “Get rid of the body too, will you?”

And with the lingering scent of perfume, she disappeared into the night.

The man was silent for a while, eyeing the bloody knife she left behind. It was slim, sleek and lethal, just like its owner. He slowly moved towards the bedroom, where the stink of roses and blood called out. The room was immaculate, except for the mussed up sheets and the pool of blood on the floor. The naked form of the target (a money-laundering politician whose name he didn’t even bother to find out) lay almost peacefully in the bed, surrounded by rose petals and bodily fluid.

He stifled the stab in his chest. He had no right to feel jealous. This was their job. She was a professional and so was he.

But it still ate at him that so many men had been with her, was allowed to touch her, kiss her…and he was not allowed to love her.

She refused him point blank, threatened him with the same knife he held in his hands, and told him she would disappear from the Operative if he dared take one more step.

And he had been terrified.

If she wanted to disappear, then he had no hope of finding her. Even with Double-H’s help. And the very thought of losing her made his hands go cold and weak in the knees. So he had backed away, with the promise never to bring his feelings into the job. He was a professional, and he was damn good at his job. She respected that. So they remained colleagues.

That didn’t mean he could resist shadowing in her footsteps, following her with eyes that could pin a target from a thousand meters away. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her cold fire, even as she burned from a distance, touching everything but refusing to be touched.

The first time he showed up after an assassination mission, she lashed out and he nearly bled to death. It was a good thing Double-H had been monitoring his frequency or he would have really died. She didn’t apologize for her behavior the next day, and he learned to never directly approach her during a kill. So the next mission where she went in to assassinate a clergyman, he waited in an adjoining room and handed her a robe when she showed up, dripping in red and breathing sharply at his presence in the room. But she did not attack him, and he waited, wound tight as a coil, until she had wordlessly left. And so, it became sort of a ritual, whenever he could, and whenever she had to kill.

“You poor fuck.” He said to the dead man. “You never even knew what hit you.”

She was a hurricane.

And he was helpless but to be swept away by her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**February, 2015** _

 

“We have a new mission.” Double-H slapped the tall agent on the back, as he climbed over the couch to sit beside him.

Graff lowered his sandwich, sighing.

“Can’t a man eat in peace before being told to walk into a deathtrap?”

“It’s a big one.” The bespectacled man wiggled his eyebrows. “I hear the whole team’s being called in.”

“What?” Graff raised a brow. “The last time we were all called in like this—“

“…was to pursue a lead on the Running Man.” Double-H finished in a hushed voice, eyes wide.

“Don’t fuck with me.” Graff snapped. “I’ve had enough of that stupid Running Man.”

“I heard a rumor—“

“You’re always hearing things.” Graff picked up his sandwich again. “I’m not listening to you unless you’ve got proof—Miss M!”

Double-H jumped, head spinning wildly around. Graff burst into a high-pitched laughter.

“That was pathetic!” He bit gleefully into his sandwich. “Is Double-H scared of little Miss M?”

“Any sane man should be.” Double-H muttered, glaring at him. “But she’s in town, last I heard. I’m telling you, we’re all being called in today.”

“You just want to play Call of Duty on us, don’t you?”

Double-H’s eyes shone. “I have these new strategy plans, you see—“

“Stop. Stop it right there.” Graff raised a hand. “No talking shop while I’m eating—Miss M!“

“Oh, shut up.” Double-H scowled. “Do you think I’m an idiot—“

“Hello, Agent Graff. Double-H.”

Double-H began to choke. Giraffe stood and offered a deep bow of respect.

“It’s been a long time!”

Her lithe figure stood draped against the metal doors, every bit the cold, calculating killer she was famed to be. And yet, the beautiful mask softened and a smile shone through.

“How have you been, Graff?”

“Awful.” Graff made a despairing sound, inviting her inside. “I get assigned to the same team as Cook, I have no idea why. The man hates me, and I can’t stand his big, muscled mug. He bullies me, you know?”

“You must have done something to deserve it.” Miss M replied, sliding into the seat quietly vacated by Double-H.

Double-H tried to make himself look smaller next to Graff, which was not particularly difficult as the man was a walking tree.

“Double-H heard a rumor.” Graff began conversationally, shooting him a sly look.

“When has he not?” Miss M replied. “Go on then, tell us about it.”

“Well, it’s nothing confirmed.” Double-H wiped his glasses, a nervous habit as any. “B-but… I heard… we’re all being called in.”

“We?”

“The Running Man Team.”

Double-H flinched as she visibly stilled.

“The Running— _honestly_.” Graff, who had once again picked up his sandwich, scoffed between bites. “It’s been four goddamn years, and we haven’t seen hide or tail of this phantom Running Man. Where the hell does he think he’s running off to?”

“Not our place to question HQ.” Miss M replied coolly. “That’s six of us, then?”

“That’s what I _heard_.” Double-H stressed. “There’s no official mission yet and I haven’t had any orders from up top.” He paused, curious. “Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry, was I not welcome?”

Double-H paled.

“Forgive the kid his bad manners, Miss M. He spends way too much time with machines.”

They all looked up at the newcomer.

 “Agent U.” Miss M smiled pleasantly. “Weren’t you getting shot at?”

“They missed.” U replied cheerfully, flopping down beside Graff and stealing his sandwich. “Are we really having our little reunion?”

“What’s this? A party?” Agent Cook strode into the room, baring sharp teeth. “And I wasn’t invited?”

“We didn’t think you liked parties.” Graff muttered, trying to wrestle back the remainder of his food. “Oh for god’s sake—“

A loud bell chime echoed through the room and everyone tensed in attention as training had been drilled into them. A sharp figure in a suit appeared in the doorway, carrying a briefcase and several ID tags.

“Please follow me.”

They all silently obeyed, falling into a familiar line as they were led down the corridor and into the Briefing Room. Their ID tags were distributed.

“Where’s Gary?” Double-H grasped at the remaining ID tag.

“All questions will be considered during the Briefing.” The man in the suit replied. “Please scan your tags.”

“I don’t remember you being this stiff, FD-1.” Agent U wagged a finger at the man in the suit. “Take that ugly look off your face, it doesn’t suit you.”

Graff snickered as he caught FD-1 making a face at U’s back.

The Briefing Room was as boring and normal as any other office, but this particular set of Agents were painfully familiar with what lay underneath it. The blinds were locked into place and bolts echoed with a familiar metal clang as the floor began to sink, gradually revolving to a stop, five hundred feet below the ground.

“Welcome, Agents.”

The five agents moved closer towards the large screen, which displayed the symbol of the Operative in the center.

“As many of you have already guessed, this specific team is being called in once again for a reason. The Running Man is once again on the move.”

Graff shifted uncomfortably.

“Recent activities have showed us an alarming pattern, and we have reasons to suspect that the Running Man is aiming for an attack on a Buddhist Temple in South Korea.”  

The agents glanced at each other, stunned.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

Graff crossed his arms, scowling. “Is this a joke?”

“Is there a problem, Agents?”

Properly schooled, they averted their eyes.

“No, sir.”

“Why is he attacking a religious cultural site?” Ms. M frowned, arms crossed. “Is this a terrorist attack?”

“It is meant to look like one.” The voice on the screen sounded grim. “The situation between the North and South has hit an all-time low. Tensions are rising and there has been talk of bomb threats. This attack could result in the start of another Civil War.”

Agent Graff let out a low whistle.

“What are the mission parameters?” Agent U said seriously.

“The details are all included in your individual briefs. For now, your immediate concern is to wrap up any loose ends on your side and rendezvous at a Safehouse in South Korea within a week.”

“Understood.”

“Your Mission Briefings.” FD-1 swiftly handed out each member a briefcase.

“Are you going on-site with us, FD-1?” U smiled at him sweetly.

“Your on-site Senior Agent is already stationed at the Safehouse, working undercover as we speak.” FD-1 replied.

“Oh yeah?” Cook peered inside his briefcase, noting its content. “Anyone we know?”

“Perhaps.” FD-1 sniffed, already retreating to the side.

“This mission is classified ‘S.’ Prepare for long-term assignment.” The voice in the screen continued.

Everyone stood to attention as the floor slowly began to move once again. Soon enough, the lights turned back on and they were back on ground zero.

“As always, we salute you for your service.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Ho, there.”

“Who is that?” Graff squinted his eyes against the sea air.

“Don’t talk to me.” Double-H hung from the rails of the speedboat, green in the face.

The boat slowed to a stop, engine stuttering as it was pulled onto a makeshift dock. Their safe-house was located on an isolated, man-made island, a few miles off the coast of Incheon. Graff wrinkled his nose even as he made a quick parameter scan, out of habit.

“Could be worse?” Gary offered, shuffling his duffel bag on one shoulder.

“Oh yeah,” Graff agreed dryly. “It could be a run-down warehouse with no visual cover for miles, surrounded by open sea… oh, wait.“

“I heard that.” The man on the docks called out, pulling the boat all the way in. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. This was the best I could do on such short notice. Do you know how impossible it is to find a secure location in a country jacked up on CCTVs?”

“I don’t believe it.” Gary grinned, jumping out of the boat in one smooth move. “Old man! Didn’t know you were still active!”

The man in the bright Hawaiian shirt winced, taking off his sunglasses.

“Don’t call me that, you punk. Just because I don’t show my face around HQ doesn’t mean I’m—“

“I haven’t seen you since Beijing.” Graff goggled, dragging Double-H out of the boat. “They said you were out of commission because of your leg—“

“My leg is fine.” The man said shortly.

“Are you our Senior Agent on site?” Gary looked around curiously. “Anybody else here yet?”

“Agents Cook and U have already been de-briefed and are on individual missions right now.”

“And Miss M?”

“Still no word.”

“Couldn’t be any more obvious.” Graff muttered under his breath, kicking irritably at the lifeless figure in his arms. “Oi, Double-H. Get a grip or I’m throwing you into the sea.”

“I hate boat rides.” Double-H moaned, dragging his feet after him.

“Better get used to it, the whole island sort-of rocks with the tide.”

The bespectacled agent looked ready to cry.

“So! Senior Agent King.” Graff put on a winning smile. “What does it take to get a hot shower around here?”

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to disappear for a while.”

Light filtered in from the open window, dust swirling around and glinting off the painted wooden tables of the small, airy café. Fresh flowers in dented, tin pails littered the dull floors and a wind chime tinkled solemnly from somewhere.

Miss M took a moment to appreciate the hand-painted drawings on the walls, touching the rim of her steaming cup. Pity she wasn’t able to drink it—coffee was hell on her nerves before a flight.

Her companion sat across her in his white button-up and shades, smiling at her knowingly over his own cup of espresso.

“Long-term assignment? Sounds like a big one.”

“You know I can’t say anything.”

“I wouldn’t want to hear it anyway.”

Miss M frowned at him.

“How long are you going to make me keep quiet about this?”

He gazed down at his cup thoughtfully.

“Don’t you think we should just let sleeping dogs lie?”

“Don’t you think you’ve made him suffer enough—“

“Jean.”

Miss M closed her mouth, lips tightening.

“Don’t call me that.”

He smiled apologetically. “Don’t drag him into this.”

He paused, hesitating. “Is he doing okay?”

She stared at him stonily for a while before sighing.

“As well as he could.” She stood, swinging her bag behind her. “But you have no right to ask me about him.”

“You’re right.”

Miss M placed a few notes on the table, along with a card with the coordinates to her next possible location. It was a game they played, keeping each other updated on where they could be found, in case one felt like hitting the other up. She didn’t know how long this mission would last, but when it did end, she planned on going on a long vacation in Bali.

Her companion touched her hand, looking up at her with a mild expression.

“You won’t hear from me for a while, too.”

“Is it getting worse?” She eyed him sharply. He did look a little pale.

“Nothing like that.” He waved her off. “But I think this could be the last time we meet like this.”

They gazed at each other for a long time. Finally, she offered him her hand.

“So long, brother.”

He clasped her hand, squeezing it fondly.

“Be safe, sister. Don’t make him cry too much.”

She left first, feeling the weight in her limbs as she walked away from the café. She had trained herself far too well for her heart to feel more than a tremor. As she waited for the blinking light to turn green, she caught her reflection on the dark glare of a car window.

“Idiot.” She murmured, flipping her hair as she walked away. “Aren’t you the one making him cry the most?”

 

* * *

 

“This is going to be tricky.”

“You don’t say.”

“No need for that tone, Agent.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose. “I was just thinking out loud.”

Agent U was a spy. He was, simply put, the Operative’s most brilliant agent: their very own James Bond. And he could not be the furthest image from Daniel Craig--unless Daniel Craig was a particularly dashing grasshopper. Agent Cook still didn’t understand what made Agent U their top spy, but Double-H once tried to explain it to him.

Agent U’s talent was blending in. He was as average as you can get, with an unassuming face and a mild demeanor that put people at ease. His voice had a polite gravitas that made him sound like a lecturer than anything—but that, according to Double-H was his charm with the ladies. Agent U was not the type of man you want to sleep with; he was the type you want to bring to your mother.

The puzzle that was Agent U just made his head hurt, especially since Agent Cook prided himself as being the simplest, most straight-forward guy there was. No second identities or flowery words for him. It was all straight-up gunmetal and muscle. All he needed was a voice in his ear telling him where to shoot.

…perhaps that was why he and Agent U clashed a lot.

“We’ve scoped the area and gathered enough data to make NASA happy. _Let’s go_.”

Agent U clucked his tongue. “And that is why you have no finesse.”

“I don’t need finesse if I’m just going to end up shooting them in the head.” Cook gritted his teeth.

“You can’t do that in front of civilians, you muscle-head.” Agent U rolled his eyes. “Look, they’re changing rotations again. That’s the third guard I’ve seen today.”

Cook glanced over at the temple entrance which they’ve been monitoring for hours.

“…so?”

“ _So_ ,” Agent U sighed. “That means we’re going to have to keep tabs on a whole bunch of people.”

“I still don’t see the problem.”

“The _problem_ ,” Agent U scowled at him. "is that we can’t get civilians involved.”

“Not if it’s a terrorist attack.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Have we met? I kill people for a living.”

“Touché.” Agent U shrugged, turning back to the field. “But you’re here to take out a potential terrorist, not _be_ the terrorist. And I’m here to sniff them out, so let me do my job.”

“So what do you need me here for?”

“Well," Agent U smiled through his view from his binoculars. "Who else was going to hold up my umbrella?”


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Left. Left. Second hallway—visual, 2 o’clock. Hold position.”

Agent Graff kept still against the cool wall, eyes trained on the blinking camera as it slowly rotated the other direction.

“Clear.” Murmured the voice in his earpiece.

He slipped easily into the dark hallway, counting the doors on his right until he reached the eighth.

“Does this say ‘Very Important Room?” Graff murmured conversationally as he tapped his standard-issue glasses, which was equipped with a camera connected to Double-H. The sign on the otherwise boring looking door was in Korean.

“Well, Google translates it to ‘Eye Room,’ but that’s good enough for me. Get me in.”

“Yessir.” Graff murmured, already picking at the digital lock that was in place. “Requesting code.”

“Reading—two-three-oh-four. Asterisk. Very original.”

“Well, it’s not like they’re keeping National Secrets in here.” Graff replied, as the door opened with a mechanical beep.

Inside was a small but neat surveillance office, and Graff had no trouble navigating through the main computer. He jacked in the device Double-H provided and waited for the data transfer.

“This is like, the most boring mission. Ever.” Graff muttered, glumly watching the sluggish green light on the monitor.

“Yeah, well. National Secrets are pretty hard to come by.”

“Explain to me again why I’m in here, when you can hack into the Pentagon in your sleep?”

“Because a freakin’ Buddhist temple doesn’t have the technology I need to hack into anything. Their security system is practically a relic.”

The computer pinged to alert that the process was complete.

“I’m in.”

Graff tucked the device into his suit.

“And I am so out.”

“Exit route, 3rd floor exhaust chute—“

“ _Double-H._ ”

There was a petulant pause.

“Oh, fine. 2nd floor, end of the hall. Fire Exit.”

“Thank you.” Graff replied sarcastically, making his way over to the stairwell. He was already thinking about dinner plans when there was a sudden clatter in his earpiece.

“Code BLUE, Agent Graff. Code Blue.” Double-H growled urgently into his earpiece. “We have an armed, unidentified party and they’re closing in on you fast—get the hell out of there. I repeat, this is a code BLUE.”

“Shit.” Graff burst into a sprint, drawing his gun and unlocking the safety.

“Two incoming—no cover.”

Graff tucked himself into a corner and waited, counting his breath as he waited for the shadow to fall into his vision—there.

“Hello,” He said conversationally, aiming a blow across the face as he knocked the weapon off his target. He grabbed the second man by his vest and threw him off his shoulder in a smooth Judo move, knocking him unconscious.

“Nice to meet you, too. Ta.”

He ran towards the end of the hallway and spotted the Fire Exit.

“Re-routing exit—there’s a group waiting for you on the ground. Head to the roof.” Double-H’s voice was tightly calm over the violent clacking of his keyboard. “Back-up on their way—ETA ten minutes. Don’t do anything rash. We don’t know who we’re dealing with.”

“I can make a wild guess.” Graff replied snidely as he clambered his way up the rusty railings. “Fuck me, but this building is ancient.”

“Shit—they’re tracking you. How the hell are they tracking you?” Double-H swearing on the line usually meant that things weren’t looking very good.

“Expected collision?”

“Thirty seconds.”

Graff gritted his teeth and swung his feet against the nearest glass window, slipping inside and flying down the deserted corridor.

“What are you doing—“

“I’m not gonna wait to be ambushed on some rusty deathtrap suspended four stories off the ground.” Graff snapped, moving his way deeper into the building. He could hear the dull thud of booted feet in the distance and he knew without Double-H’s assistance that they were closing in on him fast. In his mind, he was scanning over the blueprint of the building he had been studying the night before. “There’s a maintenance shed, east of the building. Requesting get-away car in five minutes.”

“It’ll be there.” Double-H replied tightly. “Remember the code, Agent—don’t get caught.”

“Copy that.”

 

* * *

 

_**February, 2010** _

“I have a new mission.”

The boyish good looks of this man would send people to the stars, Graff privately thought to himself as he dutifully looked over the mission briefing that was tossed over to him.

“...Jakarta?”

“New intel. Apparently, the R is outreaching for resources.”

“Huh.” Graff flipped over the briefing and made a mental note to talk to Double H about overseas tracking. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“That’s despicable.” Graff protested, already feeling lonely. “You just got back yesterday!”

“I know. But I’m closing in on him. This is important.”

  
Graff watched his best friend settle next to him on the couch, resting his head against the upholstery with a deep sigh. They shared the silence comfortably, as they’ve done for years, and Graff did not doubt for a second that he would give his own life for this man.

“Hey.”

Graff nodded to show he was listening.

“What, do you think happens… once this is all over?”

“...when what is over?”

“This,” a careless hand waved around. “All this. Espionage. Putting our lives in danger. Dirty work.”

Graff snorted. “It never ends. Not for us.”

“Yes, but what if it does.” His friend closed his eyes. “Can you see it, Graff? Us, civilians? _Normal?_ ”

“What’s gotten into you, Key.” Graff shifted, turning to face him. “Do you... do you want to retire?”

Key was silent for a moment before letting out a huff of breath. “It never ends. Not for us.” He repeated instead.

“Key--”

“Forget it. Forget I said anything.” Key laughed, shaking his head. “Just random musings.”

Graff was quiet for a long time, even as Key picked up a magazine and began rifling through it.

“Ooh, look. A new magnum is out. Looks nice. Maybe I’ll get it for your birthday.”

“I can see it.” Graff finally murmurs, eyes downcast.

Key glances at him. Hesitated. 

“Yeah?”

“Us.” Graff continues, shyly. “We could do it. Live by the beach. Have a ridiculously dumb dog. Own a truck.”

Key gave a soft laugh. “Yeah.”

Graff turned his red-face away, pretending to be engrossed in the show that was playing on the lounge TV. A gentle hand settled softly against his own, and Graff allowed a private smile before clasping their hands together, as if in a promise.


End file.
